He resented the malice of things.

He also resented the invasion of his brickfield by an alien van, a gaudy vehicle, yellow and red, to the exterior of which clinging wicker chairs, brooms, brushes and jute mats gave the impression of a lunatic's idea of decoration.

An old horse, hobbled a few feet away, philosophically cropped the abominable grass.

On the front of the van a man squatted with food and drink.

Paul hated him as a trespasser and a gormandizer.
Presently the man, shading his eyes with his hand, scrutinized the small, melancholy figure, and then, hopping from his perch, sped toward him with a nimble and curiously tortuous gait.
He approached, a wiry, almost wizened, little man of fifty, tanned to gipsy brown.